


Helicopter Jousting

by ckret2



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Time Travel, Wrecker Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2
Summary: The war is over, they've got a time machine to erase all consequences of their actions, and nobody more responsible is around to tell them what they can and can't do. It's time for the event that Whirl's been waiting to make happen for a million years: helicopter jousting.... With Springer, whom Whirl hasn't seen since that time he tried to euthanize him.





	Helicopter Jousting

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for my part of a TF Secret Santa hosted by [Sasucc](https://twitter.com/Sasucc) on Twitter! I was assigned to write for [Erika Skerzz](https://twitter.com/ErikaGSkerzz), who had Whirl listed as one of the requests! (Another one of the requests was Cygate, so I tried to drop in a few mentions of it.) This is the most I've ever written Whirl, it was a lot of fun!

"So," Springer said to Whirl and their assembled witnesses/medical standbys, "here are the rules of combat." He paused. "Wreckin' rules." 

" _Yesssss._ " Whirl performed the slowest (and most clawed) fist-pump that the Earth had ever seen. "Ohhh man. Oh-ho-ho man. You have. No idea. How long I've been waiting to hear those two words." 

They were in an abandoned football stadium—they hoped it was abandoned anyway, at the very least it wasn't being used right then—standing on the field as they discussed their rules of combat. Their audience, all two of them, were perched uncomfortably in the stands. (Tailgate had also asked to come, but Whirl had banned it on the grounds that the scheduled events would probably horrify him, and who needed that kind of judgment in life?) They'd kicked aside some of the human chairs so they could sit more easily on the bare concrete. 

Cyclonus (who Whirl claimed to have invited just to borrow his sword, and Cyclonus was pretending to believe him) leaned over to First Aid (who had been invited under the guise of providing medical assistance, but might have sort of invited himself) and asked, "What are 'wrecking rules'? Besides a pun. I've heard enough about the Wreckers to recognize the pun." 

"According to Fisitron, 'wrecking rules' meant 'no rules, no mercy, no prisoners.'" First Aid paused. "Fisitron really paints the Wreckers with a rose-tinted visor, but it was... mainly code for 'let's go commit some war crimes,' I think." 

"And, in the context of sparring?" 

"Fight until someone surrenders or dies." 

Cyclonus nodded slowly. "I know what Whirl's like. Is the green one more likely to...?" 

"Yeah, no, they're fighting to the death." 

Cyclonus frowned. First Aid looked at him, then back at the two upcoming combatants, and stood. Cyclonus put a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. 

"Why—?" 

"Wait," Cyclonus said. "I want to hear the rest of their setup first." Springer was explaining to Whirl how to work a massive machine that he'd situated on the field, attached to what looked kind of like a space bridge. 

"I don't get all the science behind it—or _any_ of the science behind it," Springer said, "but _basically,_ if you go into the past with this one, it doesn't form a stable time loop—you know, one of those things where you were always fated to go into the past?" 

Whirl nodded jerkily. "Oh yeah, real familiar with those." 

"But it doesn't make a branched timeline, either. Instead, if you change the past, the changes stick, but the future that leads to you coming to the past ceases to exist, so _you_ fade out—" 

Whirl lit up. "Ohhh, like Marty McFly!" 

"What?" 

" _Back to the Future!_ Marty McFly?" At Springer's baffled look, Whirl tapped a claw tip on his chest. "You've been down here—what—three, four years? Haven't you seen any Earth cinema?" 

Springer shrugged. "I saw _Dark Invasion_?" 

"Stop or I'll have to get my old head installed just so I can gag. I have _got_ to introduce you to the classics. We'll start with Alphaville and work our way down." With that decided, Whirl clapped a claw on Springer's shoulder. "Okay, I get it. That's why we're having this death match." He hefted Cyclonus's sword up in his free hand and used it like a baton, waving it around as he gesticulated in support of his point. "Whoever wins just jumps a minute into the past, goes 'hey, I won,' and gets bragging rights without anyone actually dying, right?" 

First Aid relaxed slightly. Cyclonus let go of his shoulder and straightened up. 

Springer grinned. "You got it exactly. What kind of experience _have_ you had with time travel?" 

"Ugh. _Ugh._ Ugh. I'm not talking about it." He raised his voice. "Cyclonus, don't tell him about it. It's too embarrassing to even think about." 

"Why would I tell him about it?" 

Whirl tilted his head back to give the appearance of looking down his non-existent nose at Cyclonus. "To _spite_ me." 

Cyclonus shook his head. 

"Okay!" Whirl backed away from Springer. "Helicopter jousting, right?" He immediately got to work affixing Cyclonus's Great Sword under his chassis. 

"The battle a million years in the making." Springer pulled out his own long sword from a sheath slung over one shoulder, and started trying to figure out how to work it under his kibble. "No Kup around to tell us to stop being idiots." 

"No Impactor to tell us the winner has to fight him and spoil the fun."  

Cyclonus looked from Springer's sword to Whirl's, then stood indignantly. "Whirl! You said this event was Great Sword mandatory. You said Springer would be borrowing Drift's." 

"Oh yeah. Heh." Whirl fixed the sword reasonably securely under his chassis, and looked up at Cyclonus. "I was lying a lot." 

" _Whirl!_ " 

"I wanted your sword!" And Whirl was lying again. He hadn't wanted Cyclonus's sword; he'd wanted Cyclonus himself to come. 

There were few things in this universe that Whirl wanted as desperately as to reconnect with Springer. The rest of the Wreckers? He could live without them. At one point he'd considered them his team—his home—but after a few years on board the _Lost Light_...? They didn't really compare, did they. The Wreckers were just a bunch of open wounds trying to cover up how much they were hurting by opening up new wounds. 

But Springer—Springer was always special. He had a clarity, a surety of conscience that the rest of the Wreckers didn't. He held himself together. He was stable, not because he stubbornly refused to topple—like Impactor, like so many of the others of them—but because he couldn't be tipped over. He was, Whirl had realized, now that he was actually capable of identifying these things, a good person. 

And Whirl wanted that in his life. He wanted Springer in his life again. He was probably the _only_ person from before the Lost Light that Whirl wanted in his life. 

However... 

He had to wonder why Springer wanted _him._

The last interaction they'd had was when Springer was in a coma and Whirl had tried to mercy kill him. Springer probably didn't remember that; but surely someone had told him. So why, after hearing that Whirl had tried to kill him and gotten kicked out, was he so eager to track Whirl down, propose they play a game that even the Wreckers considered too dangerous, and point a lance at his chest? 

Springer wasn't above revenge. True, he wasn't the type to go for subterfuge, but Whirl didn't make it through the war without being healthily paranoid. He had to face the possibility that Springer had proposed this game because he wanted Whirl dead. And, for the first time in four million years, Whirl didn't _want_ to die. 

The time machine was promising. (Assuming it worked as Springer advertised.) But, all the same—Whirl was glad to have a friend in attendance. 

"You should have figured out I was lying about the swords when Drift wasn't here! ... Or when I said that _Drift_ was going to loan somebody his _sword!_ " 

Cyclonus considered that, and sat back down. "If you break it and don't go into the past to fix it, I'm shoving what's left of it through your spark." 

"Save that romantic stuff for Tailgate," Whirl said. Cyclonus scowled while First Aid snickered. 

Springer gave the lot of them an alarmed look, before turning to Whirl. "What kind of a relationship do they _have_...?" 

"It's a long story. Ready to go?" 

"Ready!" Springer transformed into helicopter mode and hovered, his sword extended like a hornet's stinger. If hornets had stingers on their faces instead of on their butts. Maybe some did, Whirl didn't know anything about hornets. Whirl transformed as well, wobbling as he hovered; the sword threw off his balance. He'd have to adjust for that. 

They circled each other slowly as they spiraled out, crossing to opposite ends of the stadium. Once they were separated and facing each other, Springer shouted, "Okay! On the count of three! One, two—" 

There was a bright flash of light. They both tilted to look at the time machine. 

There was Springer—another Springer—with a gash in one arm and a shaky grin on his face. "That's one point for me!" 

"DAMMIT!" 

* * *

The time traveling Springer, having officially changed the past, faded out about a minute after he arrived—"Wow, that feels weird"—and after a bit of good-natured heckling on the remaining Springer's part, they were ready to go again. 

Except then a second Springer showed up. 

And a third. 

And a fourth, and a fifth. 

By the time the sixth one showed up, Whirl was buzzing back and forth in an angry figure eight, and Springer was trying hard not to crack up. 

"I'm not a bad fighter!" So Whirl said, trying not to think about the fact that nearly every fight he'd been in had been fixed. "I'm a—I'm at least a Wrecker-worthy fighter." He raised his voice so he could be heard over Springer's poorly-stifled laughter. "I'm not bad enough to lose to you _six times_ in a _row_! I'm better at being a helicopter than you! I'm—I'm like 50% helicopter and you're only a third helicopter!" 

"That's not how it works." 

"Something's gotta be going on here." 

"Maybe it's just the same fight over and over?" Springer suggested. "Since we haven't actually fought yet—I mean, in _this_ timeline—maybe you try the same thing every time and lose for the same reason?" 

" _No_ , because every time one of you comes back, I change up what I was planning on doing. And the scratches on all the yous are in different places." Whirl slowed his air-pacing and turned toward Springer. "Maybe _you_ do the same thing every time, and since I haven't seen it, I can't adjust my strategy to it?" 

"Could be." 

"So, whatever you're planning to do—do something different this time." 

"Why should I?" (Whirl could _hear_ the giggle Springer was suppressing.) "It seems like it's working out for me so far!" 

"Oh, come on! Give me a shot!" 

"Whirl. Are you _asking me_ to go _easy_ on you?" 

He was silent for a long moment, gripped by absolute horror. "... NO! I just— It's just— I think we've, uh—established that whatever you _were_ planning to do is successful! So, maybe—try—something different?" 

"Okay, okay. Something different." Springer adjusted his postition, aiming straight at Whirl once more. "Ready?" 

"Read—" 

The time travel machine flashed on again. "Didn't work!" 

Whirl screamed in frustration. Springer finally burst into laughter. 

* * *

"You okay?" Springer asked. 

"Yes," said Whirl, who for the past five minutes had been laying flat on the ground face down. 

"You sure?" The sound of Springer's rotors got closer. 

"I'm meditating," Whirl lied. "I learned it from Drift." 

"That's rubbish." 

"No, it's true. Cyclonus, back me up." 

Grudgingly, Cyclonus said, "Drift _does_ meditate," which wasn't the backup Whirl had been hoping for, but was better than nothing. 

"Primus, seriously? When did he pick _that_ up?" 

Whirl shrugged, dragging one arm through the dirt. "Dunno. Sometime around the time the Decepticons fused into a giant death-titan for a few hours." 

"They did WHAT?" 

"I can already tell I'm gonna love telling you about the stuff you missed when you were in stasis." Whirl pushed himself up, picked up Cyclonus's sword, and fixed it back into place. "Okay. All right. Eighth time's the charm, right?" He transformed, hovering up. 

"You're sure you're ready?" 

"Sure I'm sure." Whirl took up his former starting position, near one end of the stadium. After a moment, Springer took his position too. 

"On the count of three," Whirl said. "One, two, three," a pause to wait for any last second Springer that might want to jump through the time travel machine, "go!" 

And at long last, they shot toward each other. 

Here was Whirl's strategy #8: duck. Springer's sword would pass harmlessly through the empty air just above Whirl's body, but Whirl's horizontal stabilizer would crash straight through Springer's cockpit. It'd probably temporarily knock Whirl out of the sky, but a blow at that speed would easily disable Springer—smash his chest in, maybe crush his head if Whirl was right about where it was concealed when he was in helicopter mode. If Whirl got lucky, it might even kill— 

For a split second, it was as though time slowed down. Not in an “oh slag the time travel machine did something weird” way, but in that way that always happened right before he was about to land—or receive—a killing blow, and he wasn't yet quite sure which. In that moment, as clearly as though Whirl was still standing there, he saw Springer, cold, quiet, laid out on a sterile hospital slab, hooked to a dozen monitors and a hundred cables, not even his face visible under the medical equipment, something small inside him broken where nobody could reach it. He remembered the fear, the pain, the resignation, the anger, the nausea as he’d prepared to euthanize Springer. 

Whirl understood why he’d lost at helicopter jousting seven times in a row. 

It wasn’t because he wasn’t as good a fighter as Springer. It was because—even if it was temporary—even if a quick trip through a time machine would make it all go away—there was no possible way Whirl could ever try to kill Springer again. 

He twisted hard to the side, trying to avoid crushing Springer’s cockpit. One wing went up and collided with Springer’s rotors; the other dropped down and was nearly sheared off by Springer’s sword-turned-jousting-lance. Their cockpits crashed sideways against each other, and then they fell apart. Whirl spun helplessly as he tumbled to the ground. 

* * *

It was only a couple of minutes until Whirl’s senses were unscrambled enough for him to comprehend what was going on around him. The first thing he registered was First Aid hovering over him with a different medical scanner in each hand. 

"Don't—don't waste your time." Wow, talking hurt. "This timeline's gonna—stop existing in a moment." 

Irritably, First Aid said, "So it doesn't matter how I spend my time, right?" 

"Well—" 

"Then I'm spending it examining your _massive chassis wound._ " 

"... How massive?" Curious, Whirl transformed. 

"DON'T—" 

"Too late!" It took almost fifteen seconds and felt like he was twisting his entire spinal strut 360 degrees, but in a moment he was laying upside-down on a mass of twisted metal—after a moment of alarm, he realized that it was the bleachers and not part of himself—and looking down at his own mangled waist and semi-exposed spark chamber. "Huh. _Cool._ " 

"Not cool," First Aid said angrily. "Stop—stop making it worse! I don't want the last thing I see before we're existentially retconned to be you making it worse." 

"Then look away. I'm definitely about to make it worse." Both arms and one leg seemed to be functional. He tugged out the Great Sword—wow, that was bent—and used it as a crutch as he got to his feet. "Hey, Cyclonus. I'm not giving this back." 

Cyclonus shrugged in utter defeat. 

"Whirl—" The side of Springer's chest was dented, and one of his arms was pretty mangled, but overall he was looking much better than Whirl. "Hey, sit back down. I'm gonna go back in a moment anyway." 

"Lemme do it this time." 

" _What?_ " 

He gestured wildly with his free arm. "Just once! I wanna try it out! I'll tell them you won." 

"Oh, really. You're gonna tell them that. You'll tell them you lost." 

Whirl gestured to himself. "Do I _look_ like a winner?" Springer was silent a moment, considering. "C'mon. Please? Swirly time lights? Just once?" 

Springer relented. He gestured at the machine, stepping back. Whirl gleefully hobbled up to it, turned it on, and gave his audience a jaunty wave before passing through. It was tingly. 

On the other side, he heard himself saying "One, two, thr—" before cutting off. Both helicopters tilted to stare down at him. 

Whirl—limping, one leg dragging, a mess of gore from neck to waist, leaning for support on a bent sword—looked up at them, and crowed, "Sure, but you should see the other guy!" 

* * *

Whirl could easily have spent a solid ten minutes crowing about finally getting a win, but he only made it a few seconds into his celebration before Time Traveler Whirl whistled loudly to get everyone's attention. "Okay shut up, I'm gonna disappear in a few seconds and I've got something important to say." 

Whirl gave his time traveling duplicate his full attention. "What is it, most beautiful mech I've ever seen?" 

"I'm glad you asked, you incomparable stud, you." (Springer snorted.) "It's this: helicopter jousting... sucks." 

Regular Whirl raised his claws in the air in horror at this blasphemy. Springer barked, "What?! That's ridiculous! You only think it sucks because you're one to seven—" 

"No no no, shut up, shut up and listen, I don't know how much more time I've got." Time Traveler Whirl started talking faster. "How does helicopter jousting go? Either you fight _one_ time before disappearing forever, or you float around antsily waiting to start fighting for several hours while one time traveler after another comes back to announce the winner of a fight you didn't even get to see, until we get bored and call it and go home without fighting. In the end, no matter what, we only have one or zero fights." 

Springer turned that over. "Oh. You're right. That _does_ suck." 

"Yeah! Right? So, here's what I'm thinking—we call it a day, get some lances that are totally useless, cover them in paint, and score points based on how much we mess up each other's paint job." 

"Pool noodles," Springer said. 

Time Traveler Whirl said, "What?" and immediately disappeared, so regular Whirl echoed, "Yeah, what?" 

"It's a—I'll bring them next time. You'll love them. They're floppy and stupid." 

"Perfect," Whirl said. "And, honestly? Honestly speaking? That sounds more fun." He transformed and dropped heavily to the ground. "Fighting to the death might've been a blast during the _war,_ but now it's... it's kinda..." 

Springer nodded, "It's too..." 

Neither one of them wanted to finish what Springer knew they both had to be thinking: _it's too Wrecker._ You couldn't say that about the Wreckers. The Wreckers were sacred. The Wreckers were home. 

But the Wreckers were a home built in a war zone, with every door booby-trapped and electrified bars over the windows—the kind of thing that protected you during war but just made you risk maiming yourself during peacetime. The war was over, and it was time to move out. 

"Here's an idea," Whirl said. "We find a drive-in theater somewhere, and go see some Earth cinema that _doesn't_ co-star Rumble, Frenzy, and explosions." 

"Yeah. Sounds good." Springer flew down and transformed as well, and removed and stowed his sword. "Means we get to hang out a while longer." And the last bit of Whirl's tension—his doubts about why Springer might have called him here, his worries about whether this was meant as reconnection or as closure—immediately dissipated. 

He didn't know _why_ , after everything, Springer thought Whirl was someone he wanted to hang out with, but there was always time to find out later. "Okay, then! Movie night!" 

First Aid's hand shot up. "Can I come?" 

"You're such a groupie— _yes,_ you can come. Cyclonus, you're coming?" 

"I want my sword back." 

"I'll give you your sword back if you come to movie night." 

Cyclonus considered the sudden development of this hostage situation with a politely thoughtful look. "Can Tailgate come?" 

"Sure! He's still on your ship? Sure. Tell him to bring movie snacks." He graciously removed the sword from his chest and lobbed it like a spear at Cyclonus. First Aid ducked. Cyclonus caught it. 

"Hey, anyone here have a connection to the human Internet to look for a drive-in theater? Or am I gonna have to call Swerve? Please don't tell me I have to call Swerve. I haven't talked to him in three weeks, and it's gonna take him that long to tell me every joke that Decepticon he probably wants to conjugate has made since then." 

Cyclonus mumbled, "Tailgate said Misfire's in the hospital." 

"Aw, sucks for him." 

Springer raised a hand. "I know where Verity's mom lives?" 

" _Oh,_ " Whirl said eagerly, "oh yes, oh yes, we are _definitely_ gonna go harass Verity's mom. Remember how Mags tried to keep me away from Verity? I wanna meet her. I wanna—I wanna be the one to tell her Magnus is a little guy in a suit. Nobody else tell her! I called dibs." 

"Okay, but only if I can see her face." Springer transformed again, this time to car mode. "Can Tailgate catch up as we go?" 

"I'll be comming him directions," Cyclonus confirmed. 

"Great. Then let's roll out." 

The rest of the party transformed and followed Springer out of the stadium, Whirl flying as close to Springer as he could without risking brushing trees or power lines. Somehow, Whirl felt like this was even better than helicopter jousting.

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be cross-posted to tumblr once the 12/17 censorship protest is over, stay tuned for an update with the link.


End file.
